


Picking Dandelions

by PrinceCake



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance, Slow Burn, eventually well get there y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceCake/pseuds/PrinceCake
Summary: Witchers aren't supposed to feel emotions, but Geralt is certainly proving that wrong.a.k.a., if nobody else is going to write this damn fic I sure as hell will
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 185





	1. Pie

**Author's Note:**

> I got so angry that most of the fics were smut or oneshots that I decided to write my own long(ish) fluff fic! I'm a sucker for oblivious, pining fools so here we go  
> I should warn that I am. Not a violent or angry person, so writing Geralt's pov is a struggle!! But Im doing it anyways!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has a lot of thoughts about emotions. Jaskier is quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly lads I have no clue what I'm doing, but this is just a short intro chapter to give a timeline basis! This takes place directly after s1e4, so do keep yourselves spoiler-free :> after this I'm gonna go off the rails of canon plotlines and have a good old time, so bear with me!

_"I was right about you. You do know something of pleasure."_

Yennefer's words had left Geralt thinking long after he had awoken. The sorceress had since vanished, and he had found Jaskier waiting outside as the sun began slowly sinking lower in the sky. The two began their journey after gathering all their belongings, neither quite wanting to stay in town. Yennifer's comment kept floating back as Roach plodded along, despite the witcher's best attempts to forget it. Geralt tried not to think about his complicated relationship with emotions often - it usually just left him frustrated - but the topic just seemed to want to stick.

Every time someone commented that Witchers don't feel, don't have emotions, don't care, a tiny part of Geralt wondered if it was true. He knew it wasn't - the anger he felt when he saw the disgusting things people would do for power was deeply human - but the fact that he hadn't truly connected with someone made him wonder. Geralt knew of pleasure, certainly, yet he'd never known of anything beyond that. He couldn't imagine someone caring about him enough to want to stay with him for long, with all his harsh words and dark stares. Not that he'd _tried_ to make anyone stay, granted, but he could always chalk that up to constantly being in dangerous situations. Jaskier didn't seem put off by the monsters, but the bard always said he could write songs better if he was there to witness the fights, so Geralt just thought he was a bit mad to follow him around so much.

The witcher had seen couples in love, friends so close they could finish each other's sentences, siblings who would die for each other in a heartbeat. He couldn't begin to fathom being that deeply connected to someone, and if he tried to something deep in his heart began to ache. Geralt had long since accepted that he just wasn't meant to find love, platonic or otherwise, and that was fine by him. Love didn't make much sense - the world seemed to harsh and cruel a place for someone to care about a mutant witcher. Geralt had heard Jaskier play infinite love ballads, but the words never seemed to click.

Speaking of Jaskier, Geralt finally noticed that the bard was oddly quiet. He'd been fiddling on his lute as they walked, trying to figure out some new tune, and the witcher had expected him to be chatty as usual. He'd nearly lost his voice to the djinn, surely Jaskier would be singing as loud as he could to celebrate getting it back? The silence felt... off. Any time the two parted ways, Geralt expected the quiet, but with Jaskier a few paces ahead it just wasn't right. The air should be filled with one-sided conversation, songs in progress, passing comments to Roach, and the occasional shriek of _"Geralt!!"_ whenever the bard found himself in trouble.

A shiver went down the witcher's spine as he recalled the horrible gurgling noises Jaskier had made the last time he'd tried to call Geralt's name. Turning to see the bard choking on his own voice, blood spilling from his mouth, had put a bone-chilling fear into his soul. He'd never seen Jaskier in so much silent agony before - he'd never let anything close enough to do so much damage - and it was a sight he never wanted to see again. Geralt had desired sleep when he'd unintentionally wished for peace, not to nearly kill Jaskier. Especially not when he'd just insulted the bard's singing.

_"It's like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling."_ The witcher grimaced as he recalled his words. Jaskier hadn't said anything more about them after the djinn became their priority, and Geralt hadn't actually apologized yet, nor had he apologized for almost murdering the bard. He had grown quietly fond of Jaskier's singing, from his full-blown performances to his joking melodies that were never intended for crowds. He wouldn't want his last real words to him to be something so hurtful, or so deadly, even if it was intended as a joke - and yet Geralt still hadn't said he was sorry. He wasn't sure where to start. Words were Jaskier's strong suit, not his. His strong suit was much more lethal.

The witcher cleared his throat, determined to right his wrong regardless of his lack of eloquence. "Jaskier."

"Hmm?" The bard looked over, still plucking at his lute. "Is it time to make camp for the evening? The sun does seem to be making it's final bow for the day."

"... Yes." _Fuck._ As soon as the moment was there to say the words, they just wouldn't come. Instead, Geralt stayed silent as he started unpacking their bedrolls, silently cursing himself for being unable to just say two easy words. _I'm sorry_ wouldn't even take a full breath of air, why did his throat close up so much? Was this how the bard felt when the djinn had silenced him? Another chill went down Geralt's spine as the memory came back again, and he knew the guilt would only go away if he righted his wrong.

After their camp was set up and a fire was going, the witcher decided to try and work his way up to it.

"Why aren't you singing?" Came out much harsher than intended. Jaskier looked slightly taken aback.

"... I haven't come up with the right tune yet. My beautiful lyrics can't move crowds to tears if the melody is shit." The bard looked back down at his lute. Geralt frowned even harder. Jaskier rarely wrote sad songs, even when he'd just been rejected by whatever pretty woman he was fawning over at the moment. The Countess de Stael surely hadn't meant that much, had she? Was the bard truly that distressed at her departure? Or was he that upset by Geralt's stupid joke?

God, why had he even said anything? He'd been sleep-deprived, pissed off, and desperate for peace, yet that was no reason to tease Jaskier. Rubbing salt into the wound of the Countess' severance may have given Geralt a tiny bit of satisfaction in the moment, but it hadn't been worth it at all. He needed to work on that.

"I," Geralt swallowed, trying to get his voice to work. It sounded rough and unsure, not at all polished like Jaskier would've said it. "I like... your pie."

The bard paused for a moment, then looked up at Geralt. His expression was incredibly confused. "You like my eye?"

"Your _pie_."

"My - my pie!" Jaskier's face bloomed into a wide grin as the words seemed to click. "Geralt of Rivia, are you saying you like my singing?"

"Yes, Jaskier." Relief washed over Geralt like a waterfall, and suddenly his throat didn't feel so closed up. "I do."

The look of joy on the bard's face melted away a tensed-up feeling that Geralt hadn't even realized was there. He might not know of much beyond pleasure, but the witcher knew he would come to Jaskier's aid as many times as necessary to keep that smile around. The bard was obnoxious, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

If it was worth Jaskier lording 'I like your pie' over him for the next week, Geralt wasn't so sure. Maybe he should've let the bard die, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I sure did write that huh


	2. The Alp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier come to the aid of the village who's young men have begun to vanish or wind up dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to note that I've never played the games, just watched the show! My monster info is all from the Witcher fandom wiki, and there's not a lot to it, so I'm taking liberties with the lore of them.

Geralt and Jaskier had, after a few weeks of wandering, begun to hear whispers of a town that was starting to have people vanish. Supposedly they would just disappear overnight, or wind up dead and mostly drained of blood in their own homes. Geralt suspected it was some kind of vampire - nothing much would drain people of blood but not consume more of the body. Vampires were a bitch to kill, but this one seemed to be slightly unpredictable in when it took its victims away or just killed them then and there. After a bit of asking around, they got directions to the town of Duskmir, which was only a three days' walk away, and headed out.

Jaskier had switched from the sad ballad he'd been working on to a more jaunty, upbeat tune. Geralt wasn't sure if it was because of his apology, or because the bard had gotten over the Countess de Stael, but either way it made for a much more pleasant journey. Roach seemed to enjoy the extra treats that Jaskier gave her in his chipper mood, too. Geralt never failed to snort when he would dart off the path to pick some shrubbery, then run back and hold it under the horse's nose. She wouldn't always take it, but Jaskier seemed to be learning what plants were a hit and what was a miss.

Once they arrived at the town, it didn't take long for someone to recognize Geralt and take them to the mayor's house. The walk there was eerily quiet, with few people chatting in the streets or even greeting each other. The only people not rushing from one place to the next were the guards, and they looked too nervous to be at their posts. One made eye contact with Geralt, but immediately looked away and shifted from side to side.

"Boy, everyone is just _so_ enthusiastic here!" Jaskier said under his breath, earning a scoff from Geralt.

The mayor was a tall, thin woman named Miriam with dark brown skin. Her greying hair, well-worn clothes, and clear lack of sleep only added to the tired look in her eyes.

"I'm sure you've already heard of our plight, Witcher." She greeted. "Your presence is a blessing to us all."

"How long have people been vanishing for?" Geralt asked, not bothering with pleasantries. Vampires wouldn't wait around for him to have tea and biscuits. Miriam directed them to sit down in her drawing room as she explained, taking a seat across from them.

"Three months. It started off slowly, just one man vanished, and we all assumed that he had run away from home. His family wasn't kind to him." Miriam sighed, regret thick in her voice. "Then another boy disappeared, a week later, but they were friends so..." She shook her head. "We should've known better. It took a woman being found dead for us to catch on."

"Is there any pattern to it?" Jaskier asked. "Why take some, then outright kill others?" Geralt grunted in agreement.

"The ones who died were both older. No children have been taken, thank the gods." She ran her hand through her curls, the exhausted look in her eyes only deepening. "The ones who've vanished are all young. Healthy lads, for the most part. My..." Her eyes shut tight for a moment and swallowed. "My daughter went missing two nights ago."

Jaskier let out a soft "Oh, god," as Geralt scowled. The fuck kind of vampire was that picky, and that drunk on blood? If it was only taking the young away, and outright killing the elderly...

"Fuck." Miriam looked mildly taken aback at Geralt's growl. "It's an alp."

"A what? An _alp?_ How can a snowy mountain range be killing people?" Jaskier asked in his usual _Geralt you're being ridiculous_ voice. 

"Alps are a kind of vampire. They usually look like women, and they either sedate their victims or kill them in their sleep." Miriam dropped her head into her hands, her shoulders shaking as Geralt continued. "There's a chance she's taking her time with the younger ones. Alps don't need blood to survive, it's more like alcohol to them. How many people have been killed?"

"Only two have actually died so far. We haven't found the bodies of the others, but we - we haven't really looked for them." The mayor looked back up at Geralt, her eyes full of fear and desperation. "We don't have the means to handle something like this. The best we can do is tell people to not go out at night or to travel in pairs, and double up on guards, but when the creature kills people _in their own homes_ -" Miriam choked back a quiet sob. "What am I supposed to do?! I beg you, Witcher, we can't offer much, but please..." Her lips trembled. "Please bring my daughter back to me."

\-----------

Geralt had set Roach up at a stable, connected to an inn that they'd gotten a room at. He'd gotten a map of the nearby land from Miriam to start tracking down the possible home of the alp. There weren't many options, considering the usual places alps took up residence - no real crypts or swamps nearby, leaving the ruins of a long-forgotten mansion as his only option. Geralt knew he'd need silver, as his steel sword wouldn't make any killing blows, and all the myths about garlic and crucifixes was utter bullshit. Vampires were tricky bastards to fight, and annoyingly fast. His best bet would be to hunt her down the next day while she was asleep - she'd just taken someone two nights ago, so chances were very low that the alp would take another victim that evening. If Geralt was lucky, Miriam's daughter might even still be alive. He couldn't know for sure how long she would keep meals fresh, but since the alp wasn't killing them outright... There wasn't hope, exactly, but a sliver of a chance.

Considering just how many people the alp was taking, and how quickly, she was most likely very addicted to blood, and _very_ reckless. An addict vampire likely wasn't thinking clearly, nor would she be very coordinated. She was probably much less skilled at fighting, and hopefully less prepared for the chance of an attack.

Jaskier made himself right at home at the inn as Geralt planned, striking up a tune on his lute for the very few patrons dining on the main floor. His cheerful singing lessened the thick layer of fear hanging in the air, and the innkeeper seemed relieved to have two extra guests. Geralt assumed most everyone visiting town had long since cleared out, leaving only the citizens left to wait and wonder who would be the next to die. Even the few guards the witcher had spotted looked terrified as they made their rounds. Geralt almost pitied them - no normal human would stand a chance against an alp. They just needed a swift bite to inject a toxin into the bloodstream that would drop a grown man, and then they could feast while their victims suffered from nightmares until death. Not the worst way to go, but definitely not pleasant.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Jaskier packed his lute back up and met Geralt in their room. Given the lack of other occupants, they'd been able to get a room with two beds in it, and Jaskier was absolutely over the moon about sleeping indoors.

"Real, soft, fluffy beds! No cold hard ground, isn't this wonderful, Geralt? You can finally take a proper bath! I'll even get the chamomile out, for your lovely bottom -" Geralt let out a small grunt as he set out all the supplies he'd need the next day. The old mansion was only an hour's walk away from the town, probably closer to 45 minutes at Geralt's usual pace. His plan was to arrive around noon, when the alp would be deepest asleep and the sun would be brightest. Alps weren't as weak to the sun as most vampires, but it could still give Geralt an edge if he could lure it outside.

"Well, Geralt, what time are we leaving tomorrow?" Jaskier asked. Geralt looked over at the bard's eager face and frowned.

"You're staying here." Alps were dangerous, and Jaskier would be an easy target. This was different than some kikimore or ghoul that just wanted to kill - the alp might take the bard hostage if it got close enough. Geralt wasn't planning on letting that happen, but he wasn't going to risk it either. Jaskier didn't seem pleased.

"You won't need to protect me, I'll be perfectly out of the way! Besides, you never give me enough detail for my songs -"

_"No."_ Geralt cut him off, stepping towards him in a moment of frustration. "You're staying, Jaskier. I can't let you get hurt."

The bard tried to take a step back, but the bed was closer than he anticipated and he ended up sitting down on it rather ungracefully. "Really, Geralt, if you wanted to say you cared about me there's easier ways to do it than denying me a good song." Jaskier leaned back with a small huff, looking rather disgruntled. "You'd better give me more than 'I killed it', though, or next time I'll follow you whether you like it or not."

"Hmm." Geralt turned back to his own bed, feeling a small thud of his heartbeat. He did care about the bard, but hearing him say it out loud like that felt... odd. The witcher decided not to think about it. It would get in the way of killing the alp.

\----------

_Where are you?_

_Visenna?_

_Don't leave me! Visenna!!_

\----------

Geralt awoke with a yell, sitting bolt upright. His pulse was racing as the vague images from his nightmare faded away. The breeze from the open window was cool across his skin, filling his lungs with clean air as he tried to calm himself. Geralt's heart was still pounding, though, all of his enhanced sensed telling something was wrong. What sort of nightmare had he been having?

Geralt looked over to Jaskier's bed, hoping he hadn't woken him, and the thudding of his heart only increased. The bard was gone, but his lute was still packed away, sitting underneath the open window.

The window hadn't been open when they'd gone to sleep.

Geralt had been having nightmares.

The alp had taken Jaskier.


	3. Alp: 2!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt tracks down the alp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't write fight scenes, so I mostly avoided it!! This chapter does contain a lot of blood mentioning, so if that's something that upsets you, do be wary. Its a vampire, so,,,, blood

Geralt was crouched amongst the brush, surveying the layout of the mansion before he went in. He'd ridden Roach most of the way there, but left her a far enough distance away that she wouldn't be heard. An hours walk wasnt going to cut it if Jaskier needed a doctor, and if Miriam's daughter was still alive Geralt couldn't carry two people in any timely manner.

To call the building a mansion was overly kind, in his opinion. It was two stories, but more like a large house than any sort of grandiose mansion. Still, it looked big enough to have a bitch of an amount of rooms. Its stone walls were covered in overgown plants and had a few holes, the windows were more or less gone, and the roof wasn't fit for much beyond keeping rain out. It wasn't going to be the optimal space to try and take an alp down in, with little room to really doge and too many places it could be hiding, but Geralt didn't have an option. Jaskier was in there, and Geralt was going to get him out.

The witcher began slowly making his way to the house, his feet padding silently across the ground. The door was ajar and half off its hinges, and Geralt crept inside with ease. Apparently whoever used to live here had taken most of their furniture with them, as the house was barren but for a few chairs and pots, and the occasional table or scrap of a curtain. Some old paintings still hung on the wall, nearly too faded from the sun to see their former glory. The thick layer of dust and dirt inside had given everything a wash of grey, with the exception of a very clear trail where the alp had likely dragged the bodies of her victims.

Hm. That made finding her hiding place a lot easier.

Geralt did a brief look to see if there were any other footprints or moved dust, but apparently the alp only used one area of the house. The witcher started to follow the dust-free trail through was probably used to be the living room, listening intently. This vampire was apparently very sloppy, but that didn't mean she wasn't dangerous. He peered around the corner, seeing where the trail continued down a hallway and into another room with a half-open door. As Geralt inched closer, he started hearing what could only be described as a gentle slurping sound. By the time we was almost at the doorway, back pressed against the wall, the sound of blood being drained was all too clear.

A quiet rage burned in Geralt's chest. He so badly wanted to just rush in and kill the damned creature, but if she had Jaskier's throat in her jaws that could mean immediate death for the bard. The tiny silver lining was that she was actively drunk to some degree, so she wasn't going to be very coordinated. Geralt was going to have to lure her out somehow... If he could get her to just look out the doorway and then stab his silver dagger into her, she should be at least knocked down if not killed outright. It would depend on where Geralt hit her.

The witcher looked down and saw a convenient shard of a long-abandoned pot on the ground near him. He kicked it, sending it clattering across the floor. The slurping stopped almost immediately, followed by a gentle thud. A few quiet footsteps later, and a pale hand reached through the doorway to push it open more. Geralt swung his arm around towards what he hoped was the alp's neck, dagger in hand, and as his body followed the motion, he had a brief moment to see the look of shock on her face before the dagger jammed into her clavicle.

The alp shrieked out in pain, staggering back as Geralt ripped his dagger out. The skin around it began to blacken and burn away, start against her pale skin. She was short and slender, with hair so red it matched the smears of blood around her mouth and dripping down her chin. Her eyes were glassy, her expression incredibly disoriented but clearly pissed off. As she bared her fangs, the witcher caught a glance of two bodies on the floor behind her - someone curled over on their side, presumably the mayor's daughter, and Jaskier, slumped against the wall with fresh blood tricking from an open wound on his neck.

Geralt's white-hot anger distracted him for a brief moment, and the alp threw herself towards him, claws out and razor-sharp teeth at the ready. Geralt stepped to the side, letting her stumble into the hallway, and then kicked her down to the ground. Not only was she drunk, she didn't even seem to have a vague idea of fighting beyond brute strength. The alp was up off the ground and throwing herself back a Geralt in a flash, claws raking across his arm as he shoved her back and tried to slam her into the wall. He needed to keep her away from Jaskier, and moving the fight into hall had more room to maneuver.

The alp used her good shoulder to shove Geralt off of her, backing down the hall as she stared the witcher down.

"Who the fuck _are_ you?" She hissed. "Why aren't you still asleep? Why does your blood smell different?!

"Witcher, witcher, and witcher." Geralt grunted in response before charging at her again.

The alp made an effort to dodge to the side, but Geralt had drawn his sword, holding it to the side like an extension of his arm. The blade caught her torso, drawing out another loud shriek, and Geralt used his momentum to hurl the alp and his sword down the hall. She landed on the ground, and the witcher didnt give her even a moment to breathe before burying the silver dagger into her heart.

Her dying gurgle went quiet, and Geralt only paused for a few seconds to be sure she wasn't getting up again. Once he was satisfied, the witcher turned and walked back down the hall to Jaskier. He needed him to still be alive, losing him to such a sloppy monster wasn't an option. Losing him at _all_ wasn't an option. For a second time, the witcher was all too close to losing his only real friend.

_Friend._

Geralt reached Jaskier, falling to his knees to inspect him. The bard's eyes were closed, mouth half open, and the blood coming from his neck steemed to have halted. The alp had left multiple puncture wounds, but none of them looked overly deep. Geralt tore a strip off the bottom of the bard's shirt and began tying it around his throat as a makeshift bandage, his heart racing in his chest. Jaskier was fine, the injury wasn't anywhere near fatal, his pulse was weak but steady - but the witcher still felt panic crawling up this throat.

"Jaskier." Geralt croaked, taking the bard's face in his hands. "Wake up." _Please, you can't die on me, I need you_ _._ "Wake. Up."

"Ggghghhhurrrl?" Jaskier slurred, his eyelids twitching. Relief hit Geralt so hard he almost started to shake. Jaskier was fine, he wasn't going to die. His one true friend in this world was alive. The witcher closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady his racing pulse and breathe evenly.

Geralt gently leaned Jaskier's head back against the wall, moving to roll the other body over as the bard let out another "Ggghrllttt?"

The girl was definitely Miriam's daughter, with the same thin face, dark skin, and wispy hair. Her neck was significantly more damaged than Jaskier's, with much deeper bite marks and twice as many. This alp had clearly been a glutton, and Geralt doubted if she ever had any real moments of clarity with how much blood she'd been drinking. Vampires usually weren't addicted like this, and the witcher wondered what could have happened to make her this bloodthirsty.

He shook the thought off. She'd murdered multiple people, her tragic past didn't matter. Putting his fingers to the young woman's pulse, Geralt was quietly relieved to find it was still there. Thready, and definitely not strong enough that she would recover without immediate medical help, but there.

The witcher tore another strip off Jaskier's shirt and began wrapping the girl's throat. The bard was going to throw a fit about it once he was awake enough to, Geralt was certain.

"Geralt??" The slurred noises Jaskier had been making finally reached coherency. "Geralt, she..." The bard coughed, then groaned in pain. "Fuck, 's one... hell of a hickey." His breathing seemed labored, like he'd just finished a race.

As he looked back at Jaskier, Geralt could see the bard trying to sit more upright. "Can you walk?" The witcher asked. He couldn't carry two people back to Roach especially with his arm sliced open, but if Jaskier could walk Geralt could at least get the girl strapped to the horse.

Jaskier shifted a bit more, managing to use a window ledge to pull himself onto his feet. He was breathing even harder, and his face was pale and scrunched in pain. The bard gave Geralt a shaky grin before collapsing back to his knees with a gasp.

"Hmm." Geralt hoisted the girl across his shoulders and stood. "Stay here." As he left the room, only glancing briefly at the alp's dead body, he heard Jaskier hoarsely call, "Where am I going to go, out dancing?!"

It took Geralt the better of twenty minutes to get back to Roach and safely strap the daughter's body to her. "Get her back safe, Roach." He murmured, patting the horse on the neck before sending them off. The witcher knew they'd get to town faster without waiting for him and Jaskier, and Roach could outrun anything that tried to stop them. Someone would see the body slumped over a horse with no rider and investigate - hopefully in time to save the girl.

Geralt found Jaskier in the same place he'd left him, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. As soon as the witcher entered the room, though, the bard slowly blinked his eyes open.

"Is she still alive?" Jaskier asked. "I - I couldn't check on her, she didn't leave me alone or awake much." He looked more exhausted than Geralt had ever seen, and all he wanted was to get the bard a bath and sleep.

"For now. I sent Roach ahead. She needs a doctor." Geralt knelt next to Jaskier, carefully tilting his head to the side to check the makeshift bandage. Blood had seeped through, but it was doing its job.

"Thank you for ripping my shirt, by the way, not like I needed to wear it or anything." Jaskier commented. "Not like I paid good money for it, only to have it ripped off of me!"

"You can buy another." Geralt said, standing up again. "Can't buy another mouthy bard, though." He left the room to gather his sword and dagger from the alp's body. A part of him wanted to try and find the bodies of her other victims, but Jaskier was the priority. He could come back later to put them to rest.

As Geralt returned to start carrying him back to town, Jaskier stopped him, gingerly taking ahold of his arm. The witcher had nearly forgotten about his own wounds, and they'd stopped bleeding a while ago.

"Should've used my shirt to wrap yourself up, too, while you were at it." Jaskier frowned. "I can buy another shirt, but I can't buy another hard-ass witcher." Geralt snorted, taking his arm back and hoisting Jaskier onto his back. He couldn't carry him across his shoulders, though it would've been easier, for fear of too much blood coming out of the wound. Geralt had a sturdy grip on the bard's thighs, arms slung around his neck. Jaskier was comfortingly warm, a reassurance that he wasn't going to die anytime soon, and the two began their trek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed my attempt at a fight scene! This is not my forte lmao


	4. Title?? I dont know her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier make their way to town, and Jaskier gets some rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all i was trying to write this at work and i posted it when there was nothing but a paragraph and i died
> 
> Geralt: i never asked the mayor's daughter's name and at this point im too afraid to ask

Geralt made Jaskier talk the entire trip back, in fear that if he fell asleep he wouldn't wake up again. The bard sounded exhausted, but he told story after story about his time as Oxenfurt, women he'd met whose husbands had chased him out (which wasn't his fault, they'd never told him they were married, how was he supposed to know they were cheating?), men who's wives had chased him out (why do people even get married if they're going to cheat? Just dont get married!!), his favourite lutes ranked in order of how long they'd lasted before getting broken, anything that came through his head. Hearing Jaskier's unfiltered and half-conscious thoughts felt... raw. The witcher found himself listening so intently that he almost forgot about his anxieties, or the wrapped cuts on his arm.

Geralt was fascinated to actually hear about Jaskier's past - he'd never known the bard studied at Oxenfurt, let alone that he taught there for a year. Trying to imagine him teaching a class was near impossible. Jaskier seemed like the kind of instructor who would get distracted partway through a lesson telling stories and never actually _teach_.

Upon vocalizing that, the bard scoffed. "I was an amazing teacher, I'll have you know! They still ask me to teach guest classes from time to time!"

"Hm." Geralt shifted Jaskier's position on his back to ease up on his injured arm, and the bard let out a small groan of pain. "You holding up?"

"Other than the massive holes in my neck and the fact that half my shirt is missing, I'm fine." Jaskier answered. Geralt could hear the strain in his voice. Having a large quantity of blood drained would do that to a person - shaky limbs, dizzyness, extreme fatigue, not to mention the actual pain of the bite wounds. Geralt didn't have any water or food to offer - all of his supplies were at the inn or with Roach - and they hadn't passed any streams or creeks.

"We're almost back." The witcher reassured. "Teach me some music, then, if you're so great."

"Oh god, where do I even _start_? I mean there's your basic scales, treble and bass cleff, the different keys -"

Geralt listened as Jaskier began to delve into musical terms, surprised to find that the bard was actually rather clear and concise in his definitions and explanations, even in his dishelved state. Hearing the difference between 4/4, 3/4, and 5/8 time signatures was somehow soothing. The long-winded rant about how shit some conductors were at clearly showing the switch from one tempo to another made Geralt smile, despite having only seen one or two concerts in his life. There was a passion behind Jaskier's words, and the witcher felt a twinge in his chest. He'd never heard the bard talk about something with quite so much love in his voice, and it made him wonder just how much he didn't know about him. Geralt made a silent promise to ask more.

\----------

When they finally made it to town again, Geralt was greeted by a relieved-looking set of guards and the very first rays of the sun creeping above the horizon. They took one look at him, then at the weak smile Jaskier gave them, and immediately began to lead the pair back to the mayor's house. The streets were nearly empty in the gentle morning light, but there were many faces peeking through windows as they walked. Geralt assumed Roach bringing a near-dead girl back had shaken a lot of people awake - especially when that girl was the mayor's daughter.

Upon arrival at the house, Geralt was ushered into a large bedroom, where Miriam was watching a man - presumably a doctor - finish properly dressing her daughter's wounds as she laid motionless on one half of the bed. The mayor was sitting in a chair, her leg bouncing with nerves, and she hardly even looked up at the witcher as he entered. The doctor glanced back, saw Jaskier, and motioned for Geralt to lay him down on the other half of the bed. The man was short and pleasantly chubby, his hands moving with efficiency as he returned to his patient. He looked to be in his late 50's, clean-shaven with salt and pepper grey hair, and a small pair of spectacles sat atop his arched nose.

The witcher walked over and gently deposited Jaskier, helping him lean back against the pillows before sinking into a nearbye chair. The bard looked even paler than before, closing his eyes and letting out a small sigh. Geralt felt exhaustion hitting him now that they weren't in immediate danger, and his arm started to throb.

"The alp's dead." The witcher announced unceremoniously. Miriam nodded, her focus not leaving her daughter. Her skin was ashen, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat and dirt, and her chest was barely moving to show signs of breath in her lungs. The fresh bandages were still clean though, showing no signs of blood seeping through. There was a clear border around them where the grime on her skin stopped, apparently where the doctor had cleaned anything risking infection away before patching her up. "Is she going to be okay?"

The doctor straightened his back, apparently done with his work for the moment. "She's made it this far. It will take time, but I expect a full recovery." Miriam let out a sigh of relief, the frazzled look in her eyes softening. Geralt nodded, glad that the alp hadn't taken anyone else to the grave.

"Is it my turn now?" Jaskier asked weakly, not opening his eyes. "I'd love to make a full recovery." The doctor moved to his side of the bed, peeling back Geralt's handiwork. The bard hissed a bit, dried blood not wanting to unstick from his skin, and Geralt reached over to set a steadying hand on his shoulder. Seeing the bite marks on his neck sent a brief wave of anger and guilt through the witcher - if he hadn't waited to hunt it down, Jaskier never would've gotten hurt - but he took a deep breath in and let it go. Geralt couldn't change the past, and Jaskier was still alive. All he could do now was be here for his friend, and offer the bard what little comfort he could. The witcher gave a gentle squeeze to the shoulder under his hand, and Jaskier brought his own up to rest atop Geralt's.

"You got off easy, I'd say." The doctor commented. "You're going to get your full recovery, though. Just lay still, I'm going to get you cleaned up. This may sting a bit." Geralt felt the bard squeeze his hand a bit as the doctor began cleaning around the wounds. He knew from experience that shit wasn't pleasant, but absolutely necessary to disinfect cuts and punctures.

Jaskier was a perfect patient, staying as still as he could despite the discomfort. Every hiss of pain was accompanied by another squeeze, and Geralt moved his hand to squeeze back, rubbing his thumb gently across the bard's skin. Even when the doctor moved on to applying a painless poultice, though, their hands stayed. The witcher didnt mind - it was reassuring, a reminder that his bard was back, safe and sound - and Jaskier didn't seem to want to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly i channeled the time I donated blood at school and almost passed out in my english class after while trying to imagine what sort of stress Jaskier would be experiencing
> 
> Just two bros holding hands like bros do!!


End file.
